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The Badge and the Ring

Wrapped in a green satin box, emblazoned with the last picture of our five as a whole, sits a badge and a ring.

There are so many items to hold onto when someone leaves us. How do you choose?

The leather case that holds the badge shows the imprint of the gleaming silver you see upon opening. What does it represent to me? Why did I need to have that item when there were so many to choose from? When no one else even thought of it and turned to me in surprise when I quietly, with conviction, interjected, “I want his badge.” Maybe because I knew how proud he was to hold the official title of protector, it called to me as a reminder that he was, and always would be, my protector?

The ring, so small, so gold, barely fitting on my smallest finger. Why did I have to hold that close and trace the teeny tiny LJP engraved in its face? I hadn’t even seen it until we were sorting and remembering that night. But I kept it on a chain around my neck for a long time trying to imagine the tiny finger wearing it as he grew. During a time I knew so little about and could not now ask for tales.

I have pictures. I have memories. I see him in myself, my brother, my sister, his grandchildren.

But wrapped in a green satin box, emblazoned with the last picture of our five as a whole, sits a part of him that belongs to me.

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10 thoughts on “The Badge and the Ring”

A lovely, bittersweet post. Those special remembrances hold so much meaning for us – it is different for each of us. When my mom died, what i wanted most was a small hooked rug she had made and the set of dishes she had. I use these every day.

What a beautiful and detailed piece of writing. Honestly, the use of description made me visualize exactly what the pieces looked like and what you were going through. I am sure everyone could relate your writing as well.

This is beautiful. Speaks volumes. I esp like how the badge represents him as your protector and is a symbol of his adult life and accomplishements, while you also wear the tiny ring, symbolizing his childhood, “During a time I knew so little about and could not now ask for tales,” Man, this is just heartbreakingly beautiful.

Writing has become a public part of me. Never thought I'd say that! I'm a teacher turned literacy coach turned classroom teacher again. Navigating my corner of the world brings new rewards and challenges every day.